


In your gentle fire

by vogelia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anniversary, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Dance, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29049762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogelia/pseuds/vogelia
Summary: John sees him now: his vulnerability, his aching for affection, all his brokenness and beautiful humanity. He sees Sherlock's endless devotion and recognizes it for what it is: a manifestation of his love, and as such, a gift to be treasured.Some of their past John would always regret. There were things in their present, however, that he could fix.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 67
Collections: Johnlock Anniversary - January 29th





	In your gentle fire

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Johnlock Anniversary!

It occurred to John after a case.

They had just prevented a crime from disturbing an event —a wedding, no less. No harm was done, they caught the culprit in time. The ceremony resumed and music played in the speakers.

As they were getting ready to leave, John sought Sherlock out and caught him looking at the newlywed couple. They were dancing close to each other, eyes closed, the world around them forgotten. Sherlock's expression was… wistful, unusually open. Even… sad?

"Sherlock?"

After a beat, Sherlock turned and stared directly into John's eyes. That intense gaze of his that instantly pinned him in place. Sherlock's face pinched for a moment, and emotions flashed in his eyes, too quick for John to recognize. He looked away, swallowing.

"Let's go," said Sherlock, his voice a little tight.

John followed, a bit stunned. What was that about?

Memories arose in John's mind, images of a different wedding, dancing lessons and careless words. Memories of Sherlock, looking lost and alone in the middle of a dancing crowd.

_Don't know how those rumours started!_

Ah. Right. Yet another thing John inadvertently hurt him with. There were a lot of those. A lot of past transgressions John still regretted.

They'd come a long way, him and Sherlock. They knew what they meant to each other. The turmoil of the past years finally quieted down. They had recovered a semblance of normalcy and they were building a relationship with much stronger foundations.

Unfortunately, some wounds ran too deep to be forgotten. John knew he had hurt Sherlock in terrible ways, some of which he still carried with him. He saw it in the hunch of Sherlock's shoulders after a thoughtless joke, in the way he went quiet and withdrawn around certain dates, in the way his eyes got glassy and distant sometimes.

Sherlock's hesitancy made itself known in their relationship, too. It was in how Sherlock would reach for him but retreat his hand at the last second. How he would stare longingly at John, but instead of going to him, he would sigh, purse his lips and shake himself off the notion.

John supposed Sherlock had spent so long pushing down his own needs and desires that it became a habit. It didn't come naturally to him, asking for things. If there was anything John learnt during the past years, was that Sherlock always made John's needs a priority above all else —himself included. Long gone was the careless, cold persona. John didn't know how, for so long, he hadn't seen how attentive Sherlock had become, how entirely devoted.

Has John been doing the same for him? They used to be in perfect balance, each of them contributing in their own ways. John is not sure that has been the case for a long time. Possibly since a tragic leap from the top of a building shattered their lives.

John was tired of the seemingly insurmountable damage his actions had done. They deserved better. They deserved a chance at happiness. Enough of old hurts coming back to haunt them. Enough of Sherlock ignoring his pain and John pretending not to see it.

John sees him now: his vulnerability, his aching for affection, all his brokenness and beautiful humanity. He sees Sherlock's endless devotion and recognizes it for what it is: a manifestation of his love, and as such, a gift to be treasured.

Healing took time, but John was in it for the long haul. Sherlock always chose John's happiness. It was time John did the same for him.

\--

That night, John decided to take action. They've just finished eating dinner, the warm hum of the wine still in their veins. The only light in the room came from a small lamp and a fire burning slowly in the hearth. John started some music, a mellow instrumental tune.

He took Sherlock's hand and pulled him close, delicately, in their version of an embrace. His arms encircled Sherlock as he bent down to rest his head in John's shoulder and burrow his face in John's neck. It was a little awkward, given their height difference, but John didn't comment on it. He'd learnt that Sherlock liked it this way. To feel protected, shielded from the world and accepted as he is.

They stood there for a little while until John started moving from side to side —to the beat of the bass.

Sherlock chuckled, his breath warm in John's skin, "What are you doing?"

"Dance with me," John whispered to the curls caressing his cheek.

Sherlock stilled, drawing back. "Oh."

There was something fragile about the small utterance that pulled John forward. _This is important to him._

"Dance with me," he repeated with conviction.

John took them to the middle of the sitting room. Guiding his hand around Sherlock's back, he began a slow dance.

He remembered the last time they did this. It felt like an eternity ago. The circumstances were different and they had been different people. Or at least, they had been hiding parts of themselves, hiding their truths, as was evident to John from the nervous way in which Sherlock was carrying himself now.

Back then, Sherlock was a man with a purpose, falling into the role of a dance instructor if that was what John required of him. Because he would always be and do what John needed him to. If that meant giving up his hopes and wishes for the sake of John's happiness, he would readily step up to the task. He would bravely give everything he has, swallowing down his feelings, and elegantly move aside after his job was done.

This was different. It wasn't a façade, nor born out of necessity. It wasn't practising for the real thing. This was the real thing. They were. John wanted Sherlock to embrace it. He wanted to help him believe that it was alright to want things, that John ached to give them to him. Their past did not have to define their future.

Sherlock moved as unsurely as he did the first time they'd made love. Clumsy steps, hands unsteady, breath coming out in gasps. It was nothing at all like the usual fluidity of Sherlock's movements. He trembled like a scared bird. This was the unsteadiness of someone learning to walk, not the steps of the skilled dancer John knew him to be. Sherlock moved with the uncertainty of someone who expected to be dropped and rejected at any time.

This was all he'd ever wanted and never thought he could have.

As the shaking in Sherlock's shoulders intensified, and a warm spot wetted his shoulder, John felt surer than ever. He would do anything for this man.

_I'm not letting you fall. Never again._

John held, and held, and held.

He waited patiently for the sobs to subside, rocking them back and forth. Allowing Sherlock time to let go, to relax into this. To trust that he was cared for, that he was loved. That John would never hurt him again, not if he could help it. That John's love was meant for him and him only. It wasn't a second-best, nor a temporary arrangement. It wasn't for convenience and never, never a mistake.

This was meant to be.

They danced for a long time. Until the easy, boneless quality returned to Sherlock's body. Until the warm puffs of air at his neck turned to gentle caresses, and the rise and fall of Sherlock's chest synced with the beat of John's heart. Tender, steady, sure.

Sherlock pulled back to look at him. His eyes were filled with all the affection John knew him capable of, his face open in a way he only allowed John to see.

"I love you," said that deep voice, full of it. He smiled at John like he was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. John was humbled by it, by the miracle that was this rare, wonderful creature, seeing something valuable in him.

_I won’t ever take you for granted again._

The song changed, and Sherlock's eyes glinted. Life reawoke in him like fireworks going off. He picked up the pace and spun John around, laughing, face bright and playful. Taking the lead, showing off his moves. He moved as gracefully as if his limbs were made of liquid mercury. John had never loved him more than he did at that moment.

This was what happiness must be: from watching Sherlock enjoy himself, brimming with joy in that childish way of his that always manages to make John feel born anew, to the feel of his arms encircling him carefully as they danced like mad in the middle of their tiny flat.

Sherlock truly loved dancing. There was nothing more beautiful than watching Sherlock's brilliance and passion for the things he loved. John felt grateful to be able to share this with him, to fully appreciate the depth of it. To bear witness to his fire. To be a part of what made this man happy. It felt like retribution: an opportunity to give back a small portion of all the happiness Sherlock had given him.

This was the Sherlock John first met: bright, thrilling, always surprising him; like an explosion. But it was also the Sherlock John had come to know: gentle, caring, capable of deep, unwavering love; like burning embers. Both were shades of the man John fell in love with.

They flowed, swimming in joy, lost to the rest of the world, unaware and uncaring of the passing of time. There was only this. There was only them. No more doubts, no more secrets. Only a lifetime ahead to make up for the time lost, for the missed chances and the past hurts.

That was what they were to each other: hope for a brighter future. Of a life filled with moments like this, silly simple pleasures that meant the world when it was shared between the two of them.

They didn't need anything else.

\--

Somewhere in the flat, a beep goes unnoticed as the clock hits midnight. The date reads: _January, 29th._

**Author's Note:**

> I thank these two idiots for all the joy their love has given me. I thank the Sherlock fandom for its endless passion for this show.
> 
> I thank content creators for gifting us so many amazing works of art, allowing their love to live on forever. I thank fanfic writers for retelling their story in as many different ways as imagination permits. You’ve made my life infinitely better.
> 
> Finally, I thank _you_ for reading this little story of mine. It’s lived in my drafts for a long time. I decided I had to post it, and what better date to do it than today? Stories deserve to be told and shared; that’s where their power lies. I also felt that I owe the fandom a contribution of my own —small as it may be— for all the years I’ve been consuming art & fiction to stay alive. So here it is.
> 
> Thank you, everyone. Happy Johnlock Anniversary!


End file.
